


Pornathon 2015

by Beanwhile



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Crusades, First Aid, Hand Jobs, Light Masochism, M/M, PWP, porn-compliant bad plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 11:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5047552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beanwhile/pseuds/Beanwhile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All my entries for Pornathon 2015. Relationships, characters, and tags will be added with the new chapters/entries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pornathon 2015

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter contains some imagery of wounds. Many thanks to [hereticality](http://www.hereticality.tumblr.com) who bravely beta'd this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains some imagery of wounds. Many thanks to [hereticality](http://www.hereticality.tumblr.com) who bravely beta'd this.

                The door of the infirmary swung open and a Templar rushed in with his back to the room. He was carrying a limp body, holding it under the arms, and Leon recognized on the victim the slightly disheveled braid Cenred often favoured. A third Templar held Cenred’s legs. There was something odd about them, especially the last man’s hold on Cenred, but Leon couldn’t put his finger on it. The men spotted the nearest empty bed, and hurried towards it. Leon fell in step with them, examining Cenred for signs of injury.

                “Why are you carrying him so od- _oh, dear Lord_ , let me help.” Leon made the sign of the cross. The long shaft of an arrow was propped against the second Templar’s body, and was swinging in tune with the man’s movements. Its head was stuck in a place that would’ve made the Fisher King weep. “Here, I’ll hold him… Right.”

                Leon held the arrow with his hand, and put the other under Cenred’s buttocks to steady his pelvis while the men were lowering him onto the cot.

                “It’s probably poisoned,” the leg-bearer announced as soon as his hands were free. He wiped them on his breeches to underline his point. “A couple of others struck nearby, and they were all dripping some sort of liquid.”

                “ _Probably_? Are we under _attack_?” Leon looked up from the arrow. “And how did he get an arrow struck _there_ of all places?”

                A clutch around his forearm made him jump and look back at Cenred. The latter’s face was twisted in pain, his eyes were wide and teary as if he were about to cry. He looked oddly vulnerable, like a cornered animal.

                “I’d hate to interrupt, but I could make use of your immediate medical attention,” he growled, and his fingers clenched harder around Leon’s arm.

                “Well, he won’t be sitting with his legs spread anymore,” the leg-bearer said. His friend sniggered, and Cenred swore at the pair of them. Under his angry glare they scuttled out of the infirmary.

                After a brief scramble and a harsh tug Leon won his arm back. He sat on the edge of the bed and bent over Cenred to give the leg a quick examination. The arrow had pierced the coat of plates, but Cenred’s sheer dumb luck (presumably the same that had guided the arrow between his legs) had the back of the arrowhead no deeper than that chainmail. It was going to be relatively easy to pull out; the only real problem was the poison.

                He had to suck it out before it spread. Leon pulled the arrow out (Cenred cursed again, then hushed under Leon’s blank stare) and hurried to prepare for the operation. The way he saw it, there was no other course but shoving his head right between Cenred’s thighs and press his mouth against the wounded leg. As a physician, he _was_ authorized to use any of his body parts, as long as he was saving someone’s life. Yet the prospect of being seen in such a compromising position made him feel… uncomfortable. A droplet of sweat rolled down his spine and tickled him unpleasantly.

                The poison didn’t seem to be a fast or deadly one: Cenred continued to groan but he bore no distinctive marks. Still, Leon preferred to try and suck the poison out, rather than trying to pray it away.

                He climbed on the bed and knelt between Cenred’s legs. The change of angle painted Cenred in quite a different light: lying on his back, breeches discarded, hands on the knees to keep them still, he looked like an illustration from one of those indecent “manuals” apprentices passed around for “relief”. As carefully as possible, Leon cut off the majority of Cenred’s braies, but the cloth still tugged at Cenred’s leg, and he wasn’t thrilled.

                “You can’t be _any_ gentler?” he asked through gritted teeth.

                Leon glared at him this time. “You’re lucky it didn’t pierce your…” he waved at the general direction of Cenred’s groin. The movement was miscalculated, and the back of his hand brushed Cenred. Cenred _ooh_ ed but Leon ignored him.

                There was some fumbling until he found a good position. He managed to lower his body and bring his head right between Cenred’s thighs, which gave him enough space to turn his head to either side and spit the poison out in a small bowl. Cenred had groaned and muttered but there had been no explicit complaint or praise in the sounds he had made.

                Leon inhaled ad exhaled a deep breath, and pressed his lips around the wound. He sucked in and hot, pungent blood filled his mouth. Cenred’s whole body tensed, and he gasped. Leon ignored him and concentrated on the task at hand. He spat out the blood, once, then once more to clean his mouth from the poison, then pressed his mouth against Cenred’s inner thigh again. Even with the muscle so tense the flesh was too soft. Leon had to press his palm against the other side to keep it firm against his mouth. Cenred shuddered and twisted, forcing Leon to press even harder: he couldn’t spare his mouth to make remarks. Cenred’s thrashing was mildly annoying.

                “Sir Leon…” Cenred moaned, and tried to move his legs again. Leon spat out another mouthful of blood. He put his free hand onto Cenred’s hip and pressed down to try and keep his pelvis still. Cenred seemed to have understood. His body stilled, as if Leon’s hand had made everything better, less painful. Leon eased the pressure, and even patted Cenred to encourage him. It was an uncomfortable position, relying solely on his other elbow for support and balance, but it was still something.

                Cenred groaned. “Don’t stop,” he ordered. His voice was hoarse and saturated with something else than the pain, something that made Leon’s hair stand on end. He became aware of the skin on his own thighs, as if invisible hands had just caressed them. He ran his palm over Cenred’s hip, careful not to let his fingertips venture beyond the hemline of Cenred’s braies. He failed, and trembled when he felt how hot Cenred’s skin was under his touch.

                Leon hastily withdrew his hand, and told himself to concentrate on actually _treating_ his patient. Cenred’s leg twitched, but he did not move it.

                Leon was almost done. The wound continued to bleed, but the poisoned flesh had swelled and reddened, and the size of the bump was reassuringly small. There was little else to be done but bandage and hope for the best. Leon spat out the last fill and withdrew from Cenred, sitting back on his haunches. In front of him, Cenred was flushed and panting. The Templar cross rose and fell with his chest, and the surviving crotch of his braies was taut over his hard cock. A wet spot was forming where the tip was pressed against the hemline.

                “C-Cenred,” Leon stuttered. Preoccupied with the wound, he had completely misread Cenred’s behavior. His own heart picked up in pace.

                “Please… sir Leon. For the pain,” Cenred pleaded. He rubbed his index and middle finger at the juncture where his leg attached to the pelvis; the pressure onto his braies outlined his cock in obscene detail.

                Leon’s head swam and he had to grip Cenred’s knee to stabilize himself. Had Cenred gone _mad_? Had the poison done away with his better judgement? It was dangerous to comply with such a request, efficient as it would be. They were _under attack (probably)_ : it was one thing to make use of the privacy of the infirmary to perform the operation, and quite another to push their luck and… well. The poison sucking he could explain; giving relief to a Templar knight like that? Leon would have to escort himself directly to the stake.

                Time was dripping away with the ooze of Cenred’s blood. Leon had to decide, and fast.

                He crawled closer, making sure his body would obscure the view of Cenred’s abdomen. Trying not to grin, Leon tilted forward and reached down to Cenred’s braies. Cenred’s breath hitched and he nodded hastily. The noise distracted Leon for a moment: he looked up and their eyes met. Aroused and needy, Cenred was a sight to behold and worship. Leon couldn’t stop the corners of his lips from trembling, couldn’t help the glimmer of enthusiasm upon… misbehaving. He wanted to touch Cenred, to make him moan, and shiver, and beg.

                Leon reached out and pulled the string of Cenred’s braies. The hemline smoothened, and he hooked a finger in it, pulled just enough to reveal Cenred’s cock. With no fabric to absorb it, transparent fluid spilled around the head, glistening. Leon bit his lip. Of course, once he had crossed the line he wanted to take his time exploring. He ran his palm over Cenred’s lower abdomen; the coarseness of the hairs pricked the tips of his fingers, a very pleasing sensation, though not as pleasing as hearing Cenred purr. His snark had melted away.

                Such a pity they had to make haste. Leon wrapped his fingers around Cenred’s shaft and the flesh went rigid, and pressed against his palm. _He is so close_ , Leon thought smugly. He squeezed a bit harder and pulled his hand up, making sure to rub the tip. Cenred’s body tensed, his hands clutched the sheets. Leon looked at him; Cenred caught his gaze and tried to smile as if they were passing each other on the street, and failed. Leon softened his hold over Cenred’s cock, then gathered his fingers in a grip again and pulled down to reveal the oozing head. Cenred’s breath became laboured and Leon stroked him, up and down, up and down, twisting his wrist, until Cenred let out a sharp, high-pitched sound. He screwed his eyes shut and bit his lower lip. His cock quickened and throbbed in Leon’s hand, then shot long, arrow-like stripes all over the Templar cross on his chest.

                When the spurts stopped Leon slowed his hand, and let it rest loosely wrapped around the base of Cenred’s cock. Cenred was gasping for air. Flushed, his long eyelashes fluttering, he was more handsome than ever. Leon remembered how easily he had been seduced by Cenred back in Acre, and found it unsurprising that he had been—with relative ease—talked into “providing pain relief”. He squeezed Cenred’s cock one last time in a small act of revenge, and Cenred growled. His hips trembled, but his legs barely budged. Leon admired his bodily control.

                “We’re going to Hell, the both of is,” he muttered. Yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to look away from the delightful sight: the mighty sir Cenred, knight Templar, helpless on the bed with legs spread and uniform soiled in the disgrace of masochistic pleasure.

                To his surprise, Cenred laughed at him. “You’re the one holding onto my cock for dear life, sir.”


End file.
